Change
by vitruvian-woman
Summary: Matthew looks at a painting in his parent's bedroom. And he falls into another world.
1. the beginning

**Author's note: this story was inspired by a painting in my parent's bedroom. Also, this story is meant to confuse you. If you really must understand, just PM me or something.**

**Warnings: minor alcohol/drug use, semi-graphic descriptions of blood/gore**

**Please review if you enjoyed it! **

* * *

Ever since Matthew and his parents moved into their house, there had been the painting in the master bedroom.

Matthew asked his dad if he had put it there, and his dad replied, "No, it came with the house." Matthew's dad told him not to touch it, because the painting looked rather old and vintage. The house was from the 1900's, so the painting probably was too.

Every time Matthew came home from school, every time he walked in the door or passed his parent's room, he saw the mysterious painting out of the corner of his eye. It wasn't even a painting of something substantial, just a rocky, cliff-ridden shore and intense blue waves. Matthew had seen better ocean pictures, and better ocean in real life, when he went to visit his grandmother in Victoria.

It all changed the day he was left home alone. He had been home alone before, when his mom or dad was away and the other was at work. It was nothing new. He would sit on his computer, watch TV, look in the fridge for something to eat. But this particular day, he decided to take a walk outside.

He walked through the living room, over his cat, and past his parent's door. Matthew opened the door, but didn't step through it.

He looked to his right: the painting beckoned him.

He squinted, and could barely make out the old words printed on the frame. His glasses were upstairs in his room. He walked closer, not even bothering to close the front door.

Entering the threshold of his parent's master bedroom, he felt a change in the air. It was freezing cold, and he could hear a small child's voice coming from somewhere in the room. Or even from outside it, he couldn't tell.

He leaned closer to the painting with it's gaudy gold frame. If he concentrated, Matthew could swear he felt the cold spray of saltwater and hear the crash of waves upon rock.

"To those who seek it, change comes from within." The frame read in swirly, fancy letters.

Paint was laid thick on the canvas, Matthew realized, now that he had a better look at it. It was painted with huge, thick brushstrokes, with the colors applied liberally to everything.

The painting looked like it hadn't been touched for years, and it probably hadn't. The frame was covered with dust and spider webs clouded the picture.

Right in the middle, under a particularly heavy wave, there was a small speck of red paint.

Matthew leaned so close his nose was almost touching the painting. Before his very eyes, the red speck grew until it was as big as a quarter and twice as glossy, almost looking like a dot of fire.

Matthew could hear the voice louder now, and older sounding.

_change... change... Matthew, change_

Matthew closed his eyes and touched his hands to the painting.

_MATTIE!_

The voice yelled, before Matthew fell into the painting.

Matthew woke to a cool hand on his forehead. It definitely wasn't his mother's, and he didn't feel like he was laying in his bed, or any bed for that matter.

He opened his eyes, which still had no glasses. The blurry outline of a boy around his age came into view.

The sound of water crashing to shore filled his ears and at first he couldn't hear what the boy was saying to him.

"What?"

The boy's eyes filled with laughter. "I said, where did you come from?" He yelled.

"Oh..." Matthew sat up. The coarse grass of the cliff and the sea foam crashing onto the side of it looked exactly like in the painting. "I... I don't know. There was this painting, and I touched it, and-"

The boy interrupted him "No worries, you're here now, that's all that matters! Say, you look a little like me, don't you?"

Matthew looked at the boy, He had short blond hair with a very strange cowlick and blue eyes behind square glasses.

"I guess."

"You'd look even more like me if you had glasses. My name is Alfred."

Matthew stood up and Alfred did too. "I have glasses, I just left them..."

"Left them where?" Alfred asked, walking down the hill.

"In my bedroom. But I don't really know where that is now." Matthew looked behind him, and saw the faint glowing outline of a box and an ornate, gaudy frame.

"Boring. So what's your name?" Alfred asked.

"Matthew."

"Can I call you Mattie? Because you can call me Al if you want to."

"No. Please don't."

They were nearing a house, Matthew realized. It was a desolate looking thing, with half of the roof blown out and the windows boarded up.

It was three stories with peeling blue paint, and on the top floor, it looked like a bright pink light was shining out of the windows.

"What's that...?" Matthew pointed to the light, but Alfred was chatting away so much he didn't notice.

Alfred opened the door to the house. It looked much better on the inside. In fact, Matthew recognized it somewhat... it was his house. The wallpaper and furniture was different and there were several places where it looked like small bombs had gone off, but besides that, this house looked the same as the one Matthew left behind on the other side of the painting.

"Hello? Mattie?" Alfred waved his hand in front of Matthew's face.

"Yes, sorry."

"Anyway, like I was saying, this is my house. I can fix you something to eat or... anything you need, just ask." Alfred said, working his way into the kitchen.

Matthew looked into the master bedroom. The wallpaper was peeling and the bed moved around but there was still a painting in the same place. He walked towards it.

The frame and words on it were the same, but the picture was a great rendition of Maple Street, the road in front of Matthew's house.

"Huh." He muttered. Alfred came to the doorway with a sandwich.

At Matthew's questioning gaze, he said, "BLT. It's the closest thing I have to a hamburger around here, 'cause I got no buns. You want one?"

Instead of answering the question, Matthew asked, "Has this painting always been here?"

"Yeah, it was here when I got here." Alfred replied.

"How did you get here?" Matthew walked out of the master bedroom and to the stairwell.

"Uh... I don't really remember, to be honest. It's a pretty nice place, though, right?"

"Uh, huh." Was all Matthew said as he looked at the damage the house had. "What are those black marks?"

"I like to play with fire." Alfred said nonchalantly, throwing the crust of his sandwich over his shoulder.

Matthew opened the door to what would have been his room. It was empty, except for a cardboard box with his glasses on it. He picked them up, inspected them. They looked perfectly normal. He put them on.

When Matthew came out of the room, Alfred was waiting for him. "What's that pink light I saw outside?" he asked.

"Oh, that? Don't worry about it, I'll tell you later." Alfred said. "Now do you want a place to sleep? It's getting pretty late."

The sun had just gone down over the rocky cliff when Alfred gave Matthew a place to sleep in the living room. It was a red couch with a pull out bed. Alfred dug up some blankets from a chest and put them on the bed.

"I hope you'll be comfortable." He said, bringing a pillow from upstairs.

"Oh, I'll be fine. Thanks for letting me stay here." Matthew replied, taking his glasses off and setting them on the floor.

"No prob." Alfred replied. "Good night." Alfred walked up the stairs and turned off the flickering light.

Matthew fluffed up his pillow and rested his head on it, his eyes getting more and more droopy by the second.

Just before he slipped into sleep, the voice told him

_Change, Matthew..._

Matthew woke to Alfred's hand on his forehead again. "What... what are you doing, Alfred?" he asked.

Alfred moved his hand away and smiled. "You looked a little warm, that's all. I wanted to make sure you didn't have a fever."

"Oh... okay." Matthew sat up and got out of bed.

Alfred walked into the kitchen and opened the near empty fridge. "Want anything to eat?"

Matthew thought for a while then said, "Can I make pancakes?"

"Go ahead. I dunno if I have all the ingredients but you can try."

Matthew joined Alfred in the kitchen and started opening cupboards. He found flour, milk, and a tiny amount of all the other things he needed. There was even a box of raspberries in the fridge. Alfred walked upstairs, leaving Matthew alone in the kitchen to find a griddle and make his breakfast.

When his small pancakes were done, Matthew found a plate and flipped them onto it, putting the raspberries on top. Alfred owned no maple syrup, he noticed. No matter. He sat down at the grimy white fold-out table and started to eat.

Before taking his first bite, he noticed nearly all of the raspberries had bugs. Matthew made a face and scraped them off into the garbage, before cutting into the sweet-smelling pancakes. The batter oozed out, uncooked. Matthew grimaced and took a bite anyway. It was terrible, salty and lumpy. He dumped the rest of the cakes in the garbage.

"Alfred?" He called.

Alfred walked down the stairs, a grey soot stain all over his front. "Yes?"

"I think I'm going to go back to... wherever I came from."

"Safe journey." Alfred replied, turning around again to go upstairs.

Matthew left the house and walked to the cliff. The intensely blue waves crashed on the rocky shore and up to the top of the cliff. The saltwater spray reached his face, even. If he stood there longer than five minute's he'd be soaked to the bone.  
The gold frame floated like fog about five or six feet past the cliff. He would never be able to make it, even if he ran.

His mind running fifty kilometers an hour, Matthew walked back to the house, which whispered "Change... change..." from it's seams and from it's corners. He barely noticed the sound.

Matthew opened the door, and Alfred looked up from his small TV. "You back already?"

"Yeah." Matthew replied. "So what is there to do for fun around here?"

Alfred didn't even blink. "We could play some cards, pick some raspberries from the field. Whaddya want to do?"

* * *

"Thanks again for letting me stay." Matthew told Alfred as he climbed into the pull out bed.

"Why are you going to sleep, Mattie?" Alfred asked with a sly smile. "We have video games to play until the early hours of the morning."

* * *

As Matthew drifted off to sleep, he thought of how good a person Alfred was. What a truly good friend he had been to Matthew, and most of all, how much Matthew himself wanted to be like Alfred.


	2. the middle

**Gil makes an appearance in this chapter! **

**Note: Absinthe is a type of alcohol, a spirit, that causes hallucinations and was very popular in France. **

* * *

After four days staying at Alfred's house, Matthew had laughed until his sides and cheeks hurt, played mediocre video games on his small TV and just talked to Alfred. The more he talked to Alfred, the more Matthew wanted to be like him.

It didn't help that his fathers words echoed though his head now and then, "He's got to find some place to fit in. Matt has got to find some friends somewhere."

With Alfred's charismatic charm, easy smile and great humor and wit, Matthew would fit right in with some new friends back in his world.

Every morning he walked to the cliff side to look at the frame to his world, and every time he walked back, disheartened by it's growing distance away from the edge. Matthew would never get back home at this rate.

Whenever he left the dodgy house, Matthew could hear the other voices in the back of his mind

_change_

_change_

_don't you want to be like Alfred?_

_change_

_change, matthew_

However, Matthew ignored them.

He always tried to ask Alfred about the pink light whenever he remembered, but Alfred could never tell him anything. He never even let Matthew into the third story of the house.

It was only until the fifth day Matthew learned what was up there.

Alfred had brought out his small collection of weed and after one drag Matthew was saying, "Gosh, Alfred, my life would be so much easier if I were you. I mean, my parents would like me more and I'd sure as hell have a lot more friends. Why can't I be you?"

And Alfred was saying "Mattie you dork, you don't wanna be me!"

And Matthew said, "Yes! I do! I want to be like you!" and all of a sudden the voices were back in his ears and in the back of his mind

_change_

_change yourself_

_mattie!_

_change_

And that screaming, the voice screaming his name was back too

_MATTIE!_

The sound of waves crashing echoed in his head until his temples were throbbing and he was writhing on the burnt carpet and Alfred was yelling "MATTIE! Wake up!"

Matthew stopped writhing and let go of his ears.

"You know, if you really want to be me that bad I can show you how." Alfred intoned quietly.

Without waiting for an answer from Matthew, he started walking up the stairs to the third story. Matthew followed him.

The stairs ended in a trapdoor in the ceiling of the second story. Matthew knew this, of course, since the house was a copy of his. Alfred opened the small latch and pulled a short step ladder down.

When Matthew entered the threshold of the attic, the atmosphere changed, just like it had when he stepped into his parents bedroom almost a week ago. Instead of salty air and cold, wet spray, though, the air hummed with energy and it felt moist and humid, as if Matthew was stepping into a rainforest.

In the middle of the attic, there was a short table. It happened to be the only furniture in the room. The rest was empty, save for a few spider webs.

On the table was a fishbowl, and in this fishbowl was a tiny, pink plant. It cast a glow that bathed the entire room in pink.

"What do I do?" Matthew asked, the choir in his head getting louder as he stepped closer to the table.

_change_

_CHANGE_

_change_

_CHANGE_

_CHANGE YOURSELF_

_CHANGE, MATTHEW_

_CHANGE_

He ignored them still.

"That's easy." Alfred said, rubbing his reddened eyes. "Eat it."

"Eat what? The plant?" Matthew asked. He was hungry...

_change_

_CHANGE_

_PLEASE _

_CHANGE_

"Yeah." Alfred said. "I know it sounds weird. Eat the plant, you change into me."

Matthew reached toward the bowl.

_CHANGE_

_YESSSSSSSS_

_DO THE CHANGE_

_EAT IT_

_DO IT_

_MATTHEW _

_E AT I T_

_D O TH E CHA N GE_

"You know what?" Alfred said, moving Matthew's hand. The voices got quieter, but still had a strange, snakelike quality that hadn't been there before.

_The bOy is geTINg in the wAY_

_ST OP HI M_

"I have a bottle of Absinthe. We should have some before you change."

"Yeah." Matthew agreed. "That'd be great, Al."

They traipsed down the stairs again. Matthew stood in the kitchen with the joint while Alfred opened the cupboard, muttering, "It must be here somewhere. I had it two months ago, didn't I?

"Aha." he opened a cabinet that Matthew swore had been empty a couple seconds ago when Alfred last checked it, and there it was. Absinthe.

Alfred took down a shot glass and poured one. "Ladies first." Matthew took the glass and downed it.

_change_

Matthew looked behind him, the alcohol and pot starting to loosen the hinges on his mind and tongue. There was a glimmer just beyond the wall, a giggle and it disappeared.

Alfred had taken two shots already, so Matthew left the kitchen, following the sound of the giggling and the faint glimmers always out of his reach.

_change_

Matthew ran up the stairs, the glimmer taking him to wear his room would have been, had he been in his own house.

In the corner stood a little girl. She looked around his age but stood four inches off the ground.

"Who are you?" Matthew asked, sitting on the cardboard box in the middle of the room. He heard a crunching sound and pulled the mangled frame of his glasses from under him. That was funny. He was wearing his glasses.

The girl sprouted wings suddenly and flew to his shoulder. She had white hair and a minute scar in her face. Even with the alcohol, Matthew blushed at her nakedness.

"My name is Gil, but you can call me whatever you like." she whispered in his ear with a velvety voice.

"Wh... Why are you here?" Matthew whispered.

"I came to tell you to not change."

"Not... Not change? But I have to change!"

"Shushushush." she held a tiny finger over her lips. Leaning even closer to his ear, Gil whispered, "It's a trick. The painting, the frame, the plant. It's all a trick."

"How do you know about the painting?" Matthew asked incredulously.

Alfred stormed up the stairs, tripping twice. "Mattie? Why are you up here? Are you talking to yourself?"

"I'm talking to this fairy..." Matthew started to say, but Gil shook her head and vanished.

Alfred peeked in the room before turning around. "Wha... Whatever."

When Matthew turned back around, Gil was back. "I know everything." she said, her voice like silk on his frazzled brain. "Don't do the change."

"But the voices!"

Gil pulled on his earlobe, hard. "THE VOICES LIE!" she shouted. "Every one of them did it too and _nO W thEy a r D._ Just like you will be." her voice took on the distorted snake tone of the ones inside his head. Matthew flicked her away and she spiraled through the air to land on the ground next to his foot. Gil made a hurt sound, and Matthew lifted a sliver wing to look at her little face.

_ AN I LLU sION !_ she screamed, launching herself at his face, her tiny features crumpled in anger. _AL L OF I T._

Matthew caught her in midair and held her back. She had great strength for such a little creature, and the force of it knocked him off his box.

"STOP IT!" He yelled, palming her bare little body and shaking her. She scratched his hands with her tiny, sharp nails and Matthew took both hands and tried to throw her across the room, but all he got was a handful of silver glitter and her screaming voice, "MATTIE!" in his head.

Matthew's eyes rolled back in his head and he threw up before passing out.


	3. the end

**Last chapter. :)**

**Remember, faves and reviews feed the author!**

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When Matthew awoke, his vomit-which he only vaguely remembered-had been cleaned up, but he still lay on the floor of his room. His head throbbed and the quiet groaning of the house seemed to make his headache worse, grossly amplified to extremes.

Trying to remember the previous night, Matthew got garbled memories of a pink fishbowl and a silver fairy, and one thought stood out at the front of his mind: under any circumstances, do not make the change. And Matthew was determined to follow that advice and go home, once and for all.

Trudging down the stairs, he walked into the kitchen to find a snoring Alfred on the counter. His hair was ruffled and saliva formed a small pool under his mouth. Matthew decided not to wake him and poured himself a bowl of cereal.

The breakfast was sub-par, because the only cereal Alfred had was Shredded Wheat, and Matthew had to use cream instead of milk. At best, it was a shredded-wheat-cream-paste but Matthew ate it still. His empty stomach was growling as if he hadn't eaten in days.

Leaving Alfred sleeping on the counter, Matthew left the house, the voices growing louder and more distorted with every step he took.

_Don't leaeave usssss_

_PLeaSe_

_CH A NG E _

_D O TH E C HA NGE_

Matthew walked to the edge of the cliff. The faint outline of the painting frame was barely eight feet away from the drop. He paced the ledge, thinking of other ways to get to it and massaging his sore temples. The top story of the house cast an eerie pink light on the scene.

_change_

_CH ANEG_

_DOOO IIITTT _

_PLE AS E_

_CHNAGE_

_CHANGE_

Matthew walked back to the house. Upon opening the door, he saw the Alfred had woke and moved from his place on the table.

"Alfred?" Matthew called. There was silence in the house.

Alfred was nowhere to be seen on the first story, so Matthew walked up the stairs. The second story had been vacated as well, so Matthew pulled down the stepladder to the top story and climbed up.

The rainforest climate was back, and Matthew sneezed, releasing a new wave of pain on his brain.

_YESSSS SSS_

_D XHA NG E_

_dO it_

_PlEasE HElp uS_

"Mattie?" Alfred asked, walking out from the shadows. Matthew nearly fell over in shock. Alfred's obsession with fire had finally done him wrong, apparently, as most of his body had been scorched. Matthew saw some bone peeking out from his blackened skin, and blood looking clotted and crispy on the surface of his flesh as well as what little clothing he had left.

"My God, Alfred, are you okay?" Matthew said incredulously. His own voice hurt his head.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." Alfred said, sounding for the most part like normal. His voice was grisly and sounded as if he had a bad case of lung cancer, but that was it.

_ChanGE_

_CHAN GE_

_CH A N VE _

_D O I T_

Suddenly, Alfred's entire body collapsed onto the floor and he yelled something incomprehensible. His burnt arms started to crawl at the floor, bringing Alfred's ghastly body closer and closer to Matthew, who screamed and ran down into the house's second story.

"COME BACK HERE AND DO THE CHANGE." Alfred's mangled voice yelled.

"No!" Matthew yelled feebly behind his shoulder, running out of the house.

"THE FUCKING CHANGE." Alfred bellowed. "YOU COULD SAVE ME, MATTIE! MATTIE!"

As Alfred got to the front door of the house Matthew scarcely recognized anymore, Matthew had launched himself in the direction of the cliff, running faster than he ever had before. His glasses got knocked off if his head from the raging wind and sea spray, but he didn't stop to get them.

"MATTIE!" Came Alfred's anguished cry from ten feet behind him. "Change, and you could save me! Save me!"

Matthew almost turned around at that, but kept running.

In a huge act of faith, Matthew jumped from the cliff, directly out over the open ocean and rocks.

He just barely caught the gold frame with his fingers, and was extremely glad it was solid. The sea foam and saltwater spray soaked his jeans as he pulled himself up to the frame and wave after wave crashed into him, dangling from a floating frame.

He was finally able to pull his body up, and the last sight he saw from that desolate rocky cliff was the house and the flickering pink light going out.

Coughing and soaked to the bone, Matthew fell out into his parents room. He brought sea water with him, which poured out of the frame for a couple seconds until it fizzled out.

Matthew took a few shaking breaths before standing up and promptly falling over. The voices were gone from his head, and he felt better than he had in days. His hangover was gone, his hunger pains had stopped. Even his scrape from where his glasses had cut him was gone.

The painting was making soft sounds that he couldn't pick out very well. Matthew turned around, listening attentively for the strange sounds. He didn't dare touch the picture again, but leaned close enough to hear Alfred's panicked voice

_MATTIE WHERE DID YOU GO_

_MATT PLEASE COME BACK I NEED TO YOU S AV E M,E_

Matthew stepped back and before his very eyes, the red speck in the middle flared to life in a huge flame, obliterating the painting until it was reduced to a pile of ashes on the floor, leaving the wall completely unharmed. The pile made a sucking sound and was pulled into the floor. It was as if the painting had never existed in the first place.

He walled tentatively up the stairs. Matthew opened his bedroom door, half expecting to see a lone cardboard box. What he got instead was his bed, dresser, and the nightstand where his glasses lay.


	4. the epilogue

**Anon007 asked for this chapter... it's a little short but I hope you like it! ;u;**

**Please review if you like it!**

* * *

Alfred's arms had started to heal almost as soon as Matthew had vanished from view, and within the hour, they were almost like new. But, God, those wracking shivers tore up and down his body the closer he got to that house, but he knew, he knew he had to go in. His lighter was there, being held hostage in the pink fishbowl on the third story by the boy with the scarf. And his lighter, the only thing in the house that wasn't a piece of shit, was the only salvation he had.

Alfred climbed to the top floor and stared, desolate, into the fishbowl. The plant stared right back at him, smug.

Alfred pushed his hair out of his face, muttering half to himself, "Gimme my lighter back."

A giggle came from the bowl and a small voice said "No!"

"C'mon, please?" Alfred pleaded. "I know, I let this one get away but _please_, I just need my lighter. I promise, I _promise promise promise_ I'll do better next time!"

The boy with the scarf smiled coyly. He stood about five inches off the table next to the fishbowl and his skin was flushed a rosy pink. He was naked except for a scarf which, thankfully, hid the junk Alfred had no desire to see, but even with the scarf Alfred was pretty sure the boy had a tiny, raging boner 100% of the time. His hair was short and the color of snow on asphalt. The strangest thing about the boy, who called himself Ivan, was the rosy pink wings sprouting from his back.

Ivan held the lighter like a Alfred would hold a TV.

"_Please_, you fucking little fairy shit."

"Not with that attitude, Alfred." Ivan taunted, another smile playing at his little lips. "Gotta get another little легковерный один [gullible one]."

Alfred dropped to his knees. "Ivaaaan! That could take years! Who knows when another family will move into the house on Maple street!?"

Ivan's smile dropped into a scowl. "Fine. I will bring Matthew back. Once you take him you can have your stupid lighter and you can burn the house down to your content. Now get out."

That night, Alfred tossed and turned on his ratty bed in the master bedroom. The thin blanket barely covered him, but it wasn't the temperature making him uncomfortable, as the humid atmosphere from the third story had started to leak into the rest of the house. No, Alfred was fidgeting because his lighter, that precious, glorious metal box of fluid was in another's hands. Alfred languished in the knowledge that, holding his lighter, he could light anything he wanted on fire. The flames would dance in his eyes, his face would feel the hot clouds of air, and he _longed _for that feeling again.

Another, smaller, place in his mind wished he didn't have to kill Matthew for that silver lighter. Alfred didn't know much about how the house worked, but from his limited knowledge, he knew that the voices clouding his brain were countless other kids who had fallen through that painting just like Matthew had, and Alfred, although his name was not always Alfred, had lured them into making the change. He didn't remember most of them.

At last, Alfred drifted off into a fitful sleep and dreamt of a blond boy who drank pink lemonade and, halfway though the dream, sprouted mint green wings and became a pastel monster who offered pink cupcakes filled with lighter fluid.

* * *

A cold, harsh wind blew at Matthew's face as he awoke. He blinked, confused, and sat up, taking in the blurry landscape around him. The cliff and crashing waves were straight in front of him. He turned, and the house sat behind him, shabby as ever. The golden frame was nowhere to be found.

He groped on the dry ground around him, searching for his glasses, but they were gone as well. He must have left them on his nightstand.

Matthew stood up, somewhat shakily, and walked towards the blue house. He opened the door, slamming it behind him to make his presence known. Alfred walked out of the master bedroom, his gruesome wounds completely healed.

"Hi." Alfred said simply.

Instead of replying with a greeting of the same caliber, Matthew said, "You look like a wreck."

Alfred had dark, puffy bags under his eyes and tear tracks on his face. His eyes were red and a trace of a bruise was showing itself on his neck.

Before Alfred could say anything else, Matthew continued, "I'm not going to ask how I got here, and I'm not going to ask what I have to do."

Alfred nodded.

"Okay." Matthew continued. "Now let's go."

He walked up the stairs, Alfred following feebly behind. Now and then Alfred would mutter something quietly, and a few times Matthew heard him say, "I'm tired of doing this!" or "I just can't keep up anymore…"

He stood on the second story landing, staring intently up at the trapdoor. There was a giggle behind him. Turning around, Matthew saw a flash of gossamer wings and a yellow glimmer. Looking closer, he saw it belonged to a tiny, yellow tinged fairy with dragon wings and long, ponytailed, black hair. The minute creature smiled and made a shushing sign with it's tiny hand.

Pointing to the trapdoor, the small boy giggled again before disappearing.

Matthew looked towards the door in the ceiling. As he opened it, the ladder fell down and a hoard of sparkling fairies fell with it. They enveloped Matthew and Alfred, shouting in the snakelike quality of the voices that previously haunted Matthew's mind. The texture of naked skin and silk wings was all over his body as he grabbed Alfred's hand and climbed to the third story.

The winged people were all kinds of different. He spotted a girl with brown hair and a flower, and a boy with a tomato. Another boy with a blue and white scarf. So many of them clouded his vision and he fought to find his way.

_DO IT_

_DO THE CHANGE_

_PLEASE_

_HELP US_

_CHANGE_

The tiny creatures grabbed at his hair and clothing, shouting and whispering at Matthew. He took no notice as he made his way to the fishbowl in the center of the attic and smashed it.

The sounds of splintering glass overcame the voices and the entire world around him fell in tiny fragments of glass until he was sitting in his parent's bedroom with his hand still tightly clutching Alfred's. Alfred held a lighter in his other hand.

His mom opened the door, laden with grocery bags.

"Matthew," She said, "Why don't you and your brother come help me unpack these?"


End file.
